Apples
by Insouciamia
Summary: He was the student who would always show up late, and make disruptions in class. Until Nathanial Hale came along. Nathanial Hale/America


Apples  
**Pairing/Characters: **America, Nathanial Hale  
**Rating: **Work-safe, there's a hanging?  
**Warnings: **None?  
**Summery: **He was the student who would always show up late, and make disruptions in class. Until Nathanial Hale came along.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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He first met the blonde in class. Alfred F. Jones had hated studying and all who wanted him to learn his letters will be sorely mistaken. The blonde was sixteen, yet after England left, he threw tantrums, refusing to read until George Washington yelled that he was never going to become literate, which means that he would never get his freedom. That was only slightly useful for the blonde soon gave up, wanting to join the ranks of the soldier, complaining about the difficulty of the letters.

He remembered that it was spring time, the smell of apple blossoms hung in the air.

Plenty of young men refused to go to school, but were paper boys and soldiers. They were allowed to do the things that the blonde Nation wanted to do very much, but wasn't allowed because he was forced to study inside a classroom full of teenage boys, who would mock him for how little he knew of history, writing, and arithmetic. The teen would pick fights, one of the oldest in the class of twenty seven students ranging from five to seventeen years.

He was the student who would always show up late, and make disruptions in class. He was the student constantly in detention, the one who had to write sentences of "I will not pull Mary Alice's hair in class" or "I will pay attention" five hundred times on the chalkboard, the one that was the class clown. He wanted to be free from the classroom, the news got worst, and he wanted to leave so badly. He wanted to fight, to send his older brother's ships home, far, far away.

He protested that he was still young, that England probably never learned how to read either when he was younger. The old men who were his guardians didn't know what to do anymore. When they needed a strong man to help with the printing press, he volunteered for the job, when they needed somebody to carry letters, he would be the first one to jump up. He wanted to do his duty, and used every opportunity he could, to shirk away from classroom work.

One day he was running away from his job again, when he bumped into a thin blonde, who looked as though he needed a few meals and better clothes. He smelled like apples, Alfred thought vaguely. They were dirty and rumpled, but his smile was kind. The teen drew back from him, and he smiled reassuringly. "I apologize" He gave a bow, which the boy returned with mock solemnity. The boy liked the tall man, with the cheerful smile, and ran away from him, still trying to dodge work.

The second time he meet the man was when he was caught, trying to hide from work. The man was standing next to George Washington, his coat still frayed, and his eyes were still kind but tired. "It seems like we're meeting again, my friend." He smiled, and Alfred felt an affection for him. He was carrying his briefcase, holding onto a book, and watched as the white haired man berated the boy for skipping class.

"I believe I can help" The man said, walking up to Washington, and the sullen teen, and held out his hand. "My name is Nathaniel Hale, and I am a teacher, I've just recently graduated, and was wondering where I could find work."

"I'm sorry but I believe the boy is impossible..." The word died on Washington's lips, as the teacher stared him straight in the eye. He was serious, his eyes had a trusting quality that the man instantly agreed. And so, offering him the room behind the school, Nathaniel Hale was placed on the job as a teacher, the other teacher in the class of twenty seven students ranging from five to seventeen years.

Alfred started learning his letters, he started learning how to read. "The brown bear bites off a large B" he read, and his studies improved. He remained in the room during break time, forgetting lunch and talking instead with the blonde, who was knowledgeable about war and such things which interested the blonde. He had a book about warfare, that he promised the blonde he could have, as soon as he learned how to read.

It was a faded copy, a book with a torn cover and a musty smell. A book without pictures of soldiers shooting, but instead maps. A book that Alfred Jones adored, for its contents. The blonde quickly got back to reading, sometimes having a hard time with a few of the longer words, which the professor read for him. He studied as hard as possible, and the old men whom he lived were surprised by how quickly the blonde learned.

Soon he knew all of them, and one afternoon, Nathaniel Hale handed Alfred Jones the book, and he clung it to his chest. "Y-you mean it, Mr. Hale?" he asked, and the teacher smiled his kind smile, and nodded. "I'm no longer Mr. Hale, call me Nathaniel. We're friends, aren't we?" Alfred nodded, they were indeed friends, talking in the classroom while the others had gone out for dinner.

When he learned how to read, it was autumn. A fresh apple was resting on Nathan's desk, which he handed to Alfred, after noticing the blonde's interest with a smile. Alfred tossed it in the air, catching it, and bit into it with a grin.

Leading the teen by the hand, he walked with firm, broad, steps up the stairs. The old man looked worried, as if Alfred had placed another prank on the newest teacher, and was about to open his mouth to apologize as the man gestured to the book.

"Read." He commanded, and the boy started to read. With each words, the older men's eyes widened, and as he finished reading a flawless paragraph, he bowed, and the enter room was stunned at the quickness and deftness that the once illiterate boy learned how to read. The men rushed to congratulate the boy, and Nathanial's face broke into a proud, happy grin. "I told you that he would. I told you." he said, although nobody heard him.

"You have made a miracle!"

Taking another bow, the man departed for his room, and the teen started reading the words to the men who stared at him speechless.

The third time they had met was when Nathaniel Hale was standing by himself, shuffling papers. He looked so serious, overworked, sitting by himself as he continued to organize writing plans, his pen and ink bottle next to him, and waiting for them to be used. There was an apple beside him; it had no marks on it, the shiny, red, apple that had probably been brought by a student.

Alfred rushed over to him, and he looked up. His hands rested on the apple, twirling the stem, until it finally snapped, and fell on the desk with a plunk. Alfred took the apple, and bit into it hard, before pressing his lips to the teachers, his lips tangy with the sweetness of the fruit, the other's somewhat reluctant but giving in. "I've wanted to do that." He grinned, and reached for another kiss. It smelled like apples.

The next time Alfred Jones met him was when he was working. He was older now, two years, and the war had, taken a toll on him. His eyes were no longer innocent, and he no longer had to go to the school room. They were meeting in the attic of a house, talking about independence, and a man volunteered an idea. "If we have spies posted to keep track of the British..." he drifted off, nobody wanted to be a spy. It was dangerous work, and punishment was death.

But a cool, clear voice spoke out. Amid the throng of men, a thin man walked out from the shadows, and Alfred's eyes widened after seeing who he was. It was his old reading teacher! But how was that possible? Had Alfred never saw his old teacher's face at the revolutionary meetings? He was too stunned to speak, as the figure opened his mouth and uttered those words that Alfred knew, were going to be fatal. He stopped breathing for a moment.

"I volunteer"

The time after that was when he rode away. The professor still looked the same, tired, his kindly face smiling, but concentrated. The reins were in his hands, and he was about to ride away from Alfred, the blonde sensed a terrible premonition that was about to come true, and that his teacher would never come back from his mission. The blonde was clutching his book, and as Nathanial began to ride away, he rushed forward, his still boyish face clutching the book, proffering it to his old tutor.

"Come back y'hear?" he called, the book still in his hands. The tutor refused to take it back, simply rearranging the reins, and his frock coat. It was spotlessly clean, like everything the man owned.

He smiled, his voice sounding like the teacher that he was. "No Alfred." He paused for a moment, thinking. "The right way to say it, 'Come back', you don't have to add the 'you hear' since I am listening to you." He was always correcting Alfred's grammar and speech, the boy had found it tedious, but had always tried to please his teacher. This time, the teen looked down, and stared at the book still in his, forgotten. "It was your book!" He gestured to the man who was riding away, "Y'HEAR?"

But he knew the man didn't hear him.

The last time Alfred Jones saw Nathanial Hale was when he was about to be hanged. He had missed his teacher, and spent the days worrying. He wished Nathanial Hale would come back, but he didn't. Instead the news that the British had caught a spy came to him, and the older men discussed in soft whispers. They all knew what was going to happen. They had no illusions that he was going to be freed, neither did Alfred. But he had tried, he had tried knocking on Arthur's door, nobody shot at him.

Arthur Kirkland had refused to speak with him, but gave him a chance to talk to 'the prisoner'. He didn't have a name anymore, just 'the prisoner'. The prison was nothing more then a outhouse, it was guarded however, inside it was dark and hot, reeking of an unpleasant smell. Outside the window, he could see the gallows being erected. The sight of that made the teen shiver. Nathanial only smiled. "It's quiet in here. Peace and quiet. I wonder that's how death would feel like." He spoke in a matter of fact tone, not blaming anybody. Alfred remembered that he was only took much of a realist.

They talked about the politics in the book, how England won against the Spanish Armanda, the disastrous attempts of Columbus to settle the new world. Alfred was surprisingly knowledgeable about the last part, and spoke in a fast voice, that was full of emotion. He spoke as fast as he could, but as he spoke, trying to will thoughts other then war away from his mind. Nathanial Hale listened intently to him, nodding patiently, disagreeing with a few things. Finally it was time for them to go, and the blonde extended his hand towards the blonde.

"There's something about you…you seem much older then I. I just can't place it. It's like, I've known you…and somehow I don't mind dying…" He looked for the right words, and Alfred leaned in. "…my Nation." He finally said. A soldier walked over to Alfred. "Time to leave, kid." And he walked away, taking one last glance, before going back home, disappearing in the darkness.

The night passed quickly, he couldn't sleep at all, but he came back again the next day. He had to watch the execution.

The execution happened at three. Alfred tried to watch from a distance, but saw only a stranger walking in a languid fashion. He bowed politely, still the school teacher. The blonde stood there, eyes wide, waiting for the signal from the executioner. But he closed his eyes before he got to that part. "My only regret was that there was but only one life I will lose for my country"

As he said those words, Alfred wasn't sure what happened next, as everything became a blur, but there was the smell of apples in the air.

_End_

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_**Historical Notes **

Nathanial Hale was "very fair skin— blue eyes— flaxen or very light hair which was always kept short-ruffled but clean clothing" according to a fellow soldier.  
Before his famous spying mission, he was indeed a school teacher, graduating from Yale.  
He was the first spy of the American Revolution, and was caught by the British during the Battle of Long Island.  
A morbid fact/legend was that he was hung on an apple tree.


End file.
